The Aul’ Man

"So, wee sister Cath. How was the journey?"

"It wasn’t too bad. I thought it was going to be worse, but I’ve always been a good sailor. Lots of the other folk were quite sick though. I felt sorry for them."

"Well, I can imagine it. They said on the wireless that it was a force-nine gale. I was a bit worried about you crossing the North Channel in that kind of weather. It’s one of the worst stretches of sea in the world. Did you know that?"

"Mack Sleanagh, everybody in our family knows that the North Channel is one of the worst stretches of water in the world. My daddy told us often enough."

"Aye, I suppose you’re right about that. Sit up to the fire there. I’ll pour you a glass of sherry. Here, you drink that and get warmed up and I’ll be back in a minute. I’ve just got to put a new barrel on. I’ll be opening the place in half an hour."

She sipped at her favourite Sandeman extra-dry sherry. Mack always put a bottle on ice for her when she came to visit. The baronial open-hearth fireplace he had built into the pub threw out a grand heat. Cath stuck out her hands towards the flames. The pine logs crackled and sparked as the little jets of evaporating resin flamed light-blue in the heat. She felt the stress drain out of her. It was mid-November. Beth had died seven weeks ago that night.

"So, are you thawed out? That wind would go right through you."

"I am. I am. This is a great fire. I wish I could have one like it." She was quiet for a few minutes.

"I needed to get away for a while Mack. The walls were closing in on me. I miss the pair of them that much." She turned towards the fire to hide the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Mack left her to her thoughts.

Later that night after the pub was closed, they were sitting in the big living-kitchen in the house.

"Your Ann’s awful good."

"How do you mean?"

"She knows I want to talk to you. That’s why she’s gone to bed and left us alone."

"Aye, she’s like that."

"What am I going to do? I feel that lonely. They were always there to go to and sit and gossip with. Now they’re gone, I’ve nobody. You lot have all got your families. I’m just with myself."

"Time will help lassie. It’s a great healer. Put your trust in Our Lady. She’ll always be there for us."

"I know, but it’s still awful hard."

"She won’t take the pain away Cath. But she’ll help you find the strength to bear it. Come on. Get your rosary out and we’ll say the five glorious mysteries." They got down on their knees.

"I believe in God, the Father Almighty ..."

"... for ever and ever, amen." They both got up and sank into the depths of the armchairs on either side of the fire.

"Thanks Mack. I feel a lot better now."

"See. I told you. That’s the Marian magic working already. I’m going to have a dram. What would you like?"

"I’d like something stronger as well. What have you got that’s a bit sweet? A liqueur or something."

Mack came back with his Jameson’s and a glass of something light brown.

"Ooh, that’s lovely. What’s that?"

"Gran Marnier. Made from oranges. It’s French. You like it?"

"Mmn, yes. I could get to be an alcoholic on this."

It was half past two. Mack put another log on the fire and poured her a third Gran Marnier.

"We should do this more often. I enjoy raking up all the old times. It’s great to have all those good memories. Do you remember how you were always frightened to go into the coal-cellar under number 37?" Mack reminisced.

"It was always freezing in there. Even in August when it was eighty-odd degrees in the shade, it was always cold in that place." Cath had her own memories.

"The gamekeeper for the big house used to live in 37. We think the coal cellar was used as a sous-terrain for storing food."

"I never knew that. Where did you get that from?"

"The Aul’-man told me that years ago."

Cath was thoughtful for a while. Mack stared into the flames as they took a grip of the new log. He nipped at the Jameson’s.

"Go on then; a penny for them."

"It’s funny that you said a gamekeeper used to live in the house. I saw a gamekeeper there when I was a girl. I must have been about fourteen. I think I was in second year at St Augustine’s."

Mack held his breath. She stared into the fire for a long time. She stared, he waited.

"It was July. I’ll never forget it. It was the summer holidays. We were playing tennis down the Rec. Just hitting the ball to each other, you know. There was no nets or anything. Some-one belted the ball into the long grass and we couldn’t find it. The rest of them went away to play at something else, but me and Joe Nolan just kept on looking for it. I suppose there was nothing else to do."

She paused again and stared into the flames, not seeing them.

"I was walking backwards and bumped into him. I got a bit of a fright and turned round quickly, and he was right there next to me. Before I could move, he kissed me."

Mack grinned. "So my wee sister got her first kiss down the Rec. What did you do?"

"I slapped him as hard as I could. What do you think I did? And then I ran away up to the house and hid in the coal-cellar."

Mack’s smile changed to a look of concern.

"What else did he do? Did he put his arms round you or ... touch you?"

"No. Nothing like that. He just pecked at me on the lips with his. It was disgusting."

Mack relaxed. He wanted to laugh, but a lot of things were starting to make sense.

"It was just an innocent piece of boyish enthusiasm. The lad liked you; probably a lot. He just wanted you to be his special girl-friend."

"I was really shocked. I had nightmares about it, with boys chasing me and trying to kiss me; dozens of them. Over the years there were several young men tried to make up to me. Some of them were really nice and I liked a couple of them. But when they wanted to get serious, and I thought about what that would mean; all them slobbery lips…. and the rest of it. I just couldn’t face it."

"So what happened in the coal-cellar?" Mack thought it better not to delve any deeper into her blighted love-life.

"I went in there and closed the door. I sat down on the chopping-block. I remember getting a terrible row from mammy for getting my dress all dirty. I didn’t cry or anything. I was just shocked and angry. I was that mad ... If he’d come into that cellar just then, I think I’d have hit him with daddy’s big fire-wood axe. Her eyes defocused again.

Mack let the silence lengthen.

"It was freezing but I didn’t want to come out, so I just sat there. I must have dozed off or something, because I remember waking up with a jump when the door opened. This man came in. I remember thinking, who’s that? That’s not daddy. He was dressed funny; very old-fashioned. He had a big old-fashioned, gun and an oil-lamp with him. He put the gun in the corner Then he put the lamp on a wee shelf at the back of the cellar. He lit it by tapping some hot ashes out of his pipe onto some kind of table and holding the wick to it. Then he went outside again. When he came back in, he had a big sack with him. It was full of dead pheasants, grouse, rabbits and hares. They all had their feet tied together and he hung them on hooks all round the walls. The place was spotless; all whitewashed; even the ceiling. Then he took the lamp off the shelf, blew it out and went out and shut and locked the door."

She fell silent again. A bit of log became unbalanced and tumbled to the floor of the hearth. The resulting flames lit up Cath’s face, highlighting her red hair. Its noise broke her train of thought and she went on.

"It got very dark when he shut the door and I got frightened and ran out into the garden. I was terrified he had locked me in. I never went back into the old cellar after that."

"Did you ever have anything like that again?"

"Like what?"

"Waking dreams; where you saw people."

"I did." She looked surprised at the question.

"I used to get them quite a lot. I had one just before mammy died. I saw daddy. It was in number 37 and me and mammy were sitting there with her just staring in front of her. You never saw her like that Mack. It was heart-breaking the way she just sat there. She wouldn’t even answer you when you spoke to her. Anyway, daddy came in from the passage. He came in and just stood there looking at her. He looked so sad. He just stood there for a minute or two, then turned round and walked out again."

"Poor wee Cath. He’d come to get her."

"What d’you mean?"

"We Sleanaghs have a gift. Not us all. Only one of us has it at any one time. We are visited by poor unfortunate souls who are looking for help." He helped himself to some more Jameson’s.

"You had the gift and didn’t know it. Why did you never say anything to anybody. The Aul’-man had it. Mammy told me about it just after he died. Usually they tell somebody. Whenever a new person gets visited, the previous person stops getting them. Da stopped getting them just about the time you’re talking about. You were the right age; fourteen or fifteen. He watched you, but you never gave any sign of it. He assumed it had probably gone to one of uncle Harry’s sons, and he thought no more about it."

She began to cry softly. The tears flowed till great sobs shook her small frame. Mack pulled her to her feet and held her while she cried herself out.

"I was never frightened of them; not really. But I didn’t like them. I never helped any of them. I never understood. I prayed to Our Lady to make them stop, but she never answered my prayers."

"It’s nearly three o’clock. Time to get to our beds. Away you go on up. I’ll tidy things up here. Good night. I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well."

"You’re a good man, Mack. Good night."

He kissed her on the forehead.

*****

The church was full. Maisie had been a popular member of the community in Helensburgh. Her past as an unmarried mother had been forgotten long since. For years she had been known as Mrs. Wilson, a title she had not declined to acknowledge, leaving them to assume she had been widowed at an early age. Several old guests had come from Glasgow, as a result of the death notice in the Glasgow Herald. She had reached the respectable age of eighty-three.

Mr. Devenish, the minister, conducted a moving service. Phillip with Margaret and their three sons, Cormac, Eddy and Peter sat in the front pew on the left side of the aisle. Ellen Burns with her husband Hector and their children Paul, James, Corrie, Angela and Belle were seated on the right. Maisie’s son and five grandsons carried her from the church.

They laid her to rest on the hill behind the town, where she could look down the firth to where Cormac lay in Kerlaw.

*****

*****

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